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TO   THE   LIGHTHOUSE

earshot, that made Mr. Bankes almost immedi-
ately say something about its being chilly and
suggest taking a stroll. She would come, yes,
But it was with difficulty that she took her eyes
off her picture*

The jacmanna was bright violet;   the wall
staring white.   She would not have considered it
honest to tamper with the bright violet and the
staring white,  since she  saw  them   like  that,
fashionable though it was, since  Mr. Paunce-
forte's visit, to see everything pale, elegant, semi-
transparent.   Then beneath the colour there was
the shape.   She could see it all so clearly, so
commandingly, when she looked:   it was when
she took her brush in hand that the whole thing
changed.   It was in that moments flight between
the picture and her canvas that the demons set on
her who often brought her to the verge of tears
and made this passage from conception to work as
dreadful as any down a dark passage for a child*
Such she often felt herself—struggling against
terrific odds to maintain her courage;   to say:
" But this is what I see; this is what I see ", and so
to clasp some miserable remnant of her vision to
her breast, which a thousand forces did their best
to pluck from her.    And it was then too, in
that chill and windy way, as she began to paint,
that there forced themselves upon  her other
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